Tess Gerritsen - Peggy Sue Got Murdered

"Me."

"How did you…" He paused, as though not certain how to phrase the question with any delicacy.

"How did I happen to grow up there? Simple. That's where my mom lived. Right up until she died."

"So you would know the people there."

"Some of them. But the neighborhood's always changing. People who can get out, get out. It's like this giant pond. Either you float up and crawl out or you sink deeper into the mud."

"And you floated."

She shrugged. "I got lucky."

He studied her with new appreciation, as though he was really seeing her for the first time. "In your case, Novak," he said, "I think luck had nothing to do with it."

"Not like some of us," she said, looking at his tuxedo and his immaculate shirt.

He laughed. "Yes, some of us do seem to be rolling in it."

They rode back up the elevator and walked out of the building. It was chilly outside. The wind blew an empty can down the street; they could trace its progress by the tinny echoes in the darkness.

He had driven in his car, and she in hers. Now they paused beside their respective vehicles, as though reluctant to part.

He turned to her. "What I was trying to say earlier- about your knowing people in South Lexington…" He paused. She waited, feeling strangely breathless. Eager. "I was trying to ask for your help," he finished.

"My help?"

"I want to find Maeve."

So it's my help he wants , she thought. Not me in particular . She wondered why that fact should leave her feeling so disappointed. She said, "Lou Beamis is a good cop. If he can't find her-"

"That's just it. He's a cop . No one out there trusts cops. Certainly Maeve wouldn't trust him. She'd think he was out to arrest her. Or reel her in for me."

"Is that what you're trying to do?"

"I just want to know she's alive and well."

"She's an adult, Adam. She can make her own choices."

"What if her choices are insane?"

"Then she lives with them."

"You don't understand. I made a promise to her mother. I promised that Maeve would be taken care of. So far I've done a pretty deplorable job." He sighed. "At the very least, I should look for her."

"What if she doesn't want to be found?"

"Then she should tell me that, face to face. But I have to find her first. And you're the only one I know who's familiar with South Lexington."

M. J. laughed. "Yeah, I guess it's not the sort of neighborhood your dinner guests would frequent."

"I would appreciate it. I really would. Just show me the place. Put me in touch with some of the people. I'd reimburse you for your time, of course. You only have to say how much-"

"Wait a minute." She moved closer to him, her chin tilted up in astonishment. "You were going to pay me?"

"I mean, it's only appropriate-"

"Forget it. Forget it . I'm a doctor, Quantrell, okay? I'm not the butler. I'm not the cook. I'm a doctor, and I already get paid for what I do."

"So?"

"Which means I don't need a moonlighting job. When I do a favor for a friend-and I'm not necessarily putting you in the category-I do it as a friend. Gratis. Purely for warm fuzzies."

"So… you just want warm fuzzies?"

She turned away. "You don't get it."

"I do get it. You want to do it out of the kindness of your heart. You want me to feel grateful. And I do, I really do." He paused, then added softly: "I also really need your help."

M. J. wasn't philosophically opposed to helping her fellow man. And a devoted dad in search of his daughter, well, that was an appeal she could hardly refuse. But this particular dad was no charity case. And instinct told her that the sight of those blue-gray eyes, the dazzle of that smile, could prove addictive-dangerously so.

Still…

She walked over to her car and flung open the door. "Get in, Quantrell."

"Excuse me?"

"We're not taking your car, because a nice new Volvo's an invitation to a chop job. So let's go in mine."

"To South Lexington?"

"You want an intro to the place, I know some people you can talk to. People who'd know what's going on in the neighborhood."

"But-it's dark."

"Listen," she said. "You want to live dangerously or not?"

He regarded her battered Subaru. Then he shrugged. "Why not?" he said, and climbed into her car.

South Lexington was a different place at night. What by day had seemed merely drab and depressing had, by night, assumed new menace. Alleys seemed to snake away into nowhere, and in that darkness lurked all the terrible unknowns a mind could conjure.

M. J. parked beneath a streetlamp, and for a moment she studied the sidewalk, the buildings. A block away, a dozen or so teenagers had gathered on the corner. They looked harmless enough, just a bunch of kids engaged in the adolescent rites of spring.

"It looks okay," she said. "Let's go."

"I hope you know what you're doing."

They got out of the car and walked up the sidewalk, toward Building Five. The teenagers, at once alerted to intruders in their territory, turned and stared. Automatically, Adam moved close beside M. J. and tightly grasped her arm.

"Keep your cool, Quantrell," she whispered, pulling away. "Don't let 'em smell your fear."

"I was only trying to be protective," he hissed.

"Oh. I thought you were just scared."

"That, too."

The building was unlocked, so they went inside. The lobby was as she'd remembered it: dingy walls, nutmeg-colored carpet to hide the stains, half the hall lights burned out. The graffiti was a little more graphic, and less poetic than she remembered; the artwork had definitely taken a slide for the worse.

The elevator, as always, was out of commission.

"I don't think it ever worked," she muttered, noting the faded Out of Order sign. "It's four flights up. We'll have to walk."

They went up the stairs, stepping over broken toys and cigarette butts. The handrail, once smoothly burnished, was now scarred by a series of initials carved in the wood. Noises filtered out from the various apartments: crying babies, blaring TV sets and radios, a woman yelling at her kids. Floating above it all were the pure and crystalline tones of a girl singing "Amazing Grace." The sound soared like a cathedral above the ruins. As they ascended the stairs to the fourth floor, the girl's voice grew louder, until they knew it was coming from behind the very door where they stopped.

M. J. knocked.

The singing stopped. Footsteps approached, and the door opened a crack. A girl with a silky face the color of mocha gazed out over the security chain with doe eyes.

"Bella?" said M. J.

The smile that appeared on the girl's face was like a brilliant wash of sunshine. "Auntie M!" she cried, unlatching the door chain. She turned and called out: "Papa Earl! It's Auntie M!"

"Auntie M?" whispered Adam, flashing M. J. a look of amusement.

"One of my many aliases," M. J. muttered as they stepped into the apartment.

"Papa Earl," Bella called again. "You coming?"

"Don't rush me," grumbled a voice from the next room. "I don't go runnin' for no one."

Bella gave M. J. an embarrassed look. "Those bones of his," she murmured. "Ache him real bad in this weather. He's in a foul mood…"

" Who's in a foul mood?" snapped Papa Earl, shuffling into the room. He moved slowly, his head tipped forward, his once-jet black hair now a grizzled white. How old he had gotten, thought M. J. sadly. Somehow, she had never thought this man would be touched by the years.

M. J. went forward to give him a hug. It was almost like hugging a stranger; he seemed so small, so frail, shrunken by time. "Hi, Papa Earl," she said.

"You got your nerve, girl," he grumbled. "Go two years, three, not even droppin' by."